Every Tuesday afternoon, Morris Fitz carefully loaded the skeleton of his late wife Vera into the back of his buggy and took her for a turn up and down the main street. 

He wasn’t sure whether she enjoyed it and he never asked; even when bitter life still hung from her sharp bones, Vera wasn’t much of a conversationalist. She’d said plenty though, using dagger eyes and flared nostrils and crossed arms. Folks around town never said much in reply to her but they spoke quietly to Morris, with sympathetic smiles and gentle shoulder pats and whispers of reassurance. The whole town turned out for her funeral, but the air seemed almost jovial in the church. Morris wondered if he should say something, but decided against it. 

As the weeks passed, the stream of visitors slowed to a trickle, replaced by a rising current of loneliness. After the brief froth of concern over thinly veiled delight, people reverted to regarding Morris with the same old blend of pity and disregard. Despite Vera’s acerbic nature, he found that he missed her; she’d stripped away his friends like acid rain and ended up really his only company. He had the undertaker quietly exhume her and, once she was cleaned up and dressed suitably, he sat her on the couch where she could watch Wheel of Fortune and make her usual scathing remarks about the contestants. 

Except she didn’t. 

Morris was nonplussed at first, but began to enjoy having the chance to make his own comments or even try a guess of his own without Vera’s sharp tongue to lash him. One night he dared to change the channel. Vera didn’t say a word about it. Their one-sided conversations were downright enjoyable. Morris couldn’t remember when he and Vera last got along that well.

One Tuesday, a holiday, Morris decided to take Vera out for some fresh air. He set her in the back of the buggy and made sure the seatbelt didn’t crush her dress. She hated that. Then he motored along the road, just faster than walking speed, towards the main street. With half an hour till tea time, he figured he and Vera could manage two circuits and perhaps three, if the traffic was light. As they drove, he pointed out to her all the new developments that had happened, well, since then. Morris waved to everyone he passed and to his delight they waved back. The afternoon felt such a success he resolved to take Vera out again next week.

Tuesday afternoons became something of an occasion for Morris. Of course he knew the real reason people were waving to him. He wasn’t losing it, like they said in hushed tones. And he knew he really should bury Vera. But she was finally doing him a favour, and he wasn’t ready to let her off the hook. Not quite yet.